Page 120 of Think Twice
“How old is Hector now?” Win asked. “Nine, ten?”
“He’s fifteen, Win.”
Win considered that. “Nothing ages you faster than someone else’s child.”
“Deep,” Esperanza said with the slightest hint of sarcasm. All three of them favored a pinch of sarcasm in their voice, but none could deliver the full potpourri of sarcasm’s spices and herbs like Esperanza. She was a sarcasm savant. “Speaking of sons, how’s it going with Jeremy?”
“It is what it is,” Myron said. Then: “I told him I want him to meet my folks.”
“Good,” Esperanza said. “He should have them in his life.”
“He’s also not stationed overseas anymore.”
Win arched an eyebrow. “Since when?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where then?”
“It’s classified.”
Win didn’t like that. “But somewhere in the United States?”
“That’s what he said.”
“Can we get back to this?” Esperanza asked. “Like I said, I have to get home.”
“Of course.” Win put the snifter down and stood. “Do you need the large screen?”
“It would be helpful.”
Win approached what appeared to be a bronze bust of Shakespeare on the marble fireplace mantel but was, in fact, a prop used in the 1960s Batman television series. Bruce Wayne (Batman) or Dick Grayson (Robin) would tilt the head of Shakespeare’s bust back, revealing a hidden switch. Once the switch was hit, the bookcase behind the Caped Crusaders would slide open and reveal two poles (one pole said “DICK,” one pole said “BRUCE,” as though they might forget which pole was whose) and then Bruce Wayne, played by the brilliant Adam West, would exclaim, “To the Batpoles!”
Like the famed Caped Crusader before him, Win now tilted back the Shakespeare head, flicked the switch, and voilà, the bookcase slid to one side. Instead of Batpoles, there was a large flat-screen television mounted to the wall. Blackout curtains automatically lowered over the windows, converting Win’s parlor into a man cave–styled theater room—albeit one serving Remy Louis XIII Black Pearl Grande Champagne Cognac.
Myron looked over at Win. Win smiled and arched an eyebrow. The man loved his gadgets.
Esperanza quickly mirrored her tablet to the television so they could all view the files on the big screen.
“Okay, so here’s what I put together from what PT told you,” she began. “We already know about Jordan Kravat in Las Vegas. And we have the Callisters in New York. Adding to that”—she clicked the pad and a new slide appeared—“PT told you about Tracy Keating. I got this off her LinkedIn page.”
A photograph appeared of a woman with curly blonde hair and dark glasses and the kind of smile that hit every part of her face and made you want to smile back.
“Tracy Keating was allegedly killed in Marshfield, Massachusetts, by a stalking ex, a guy named Robert Lestrano. She was in the process of getting a restraining order. PT already filled you in on some of this, but I was able to make up pretty extensive files on these three cases—Kravat, Callister, Keating. Win, you may be happy to know your pal Taft Buckingham’s kid was helpful in putting this together for me.”
“I’m ecstatic,” Win said. “Enthralled even.”
“Super. So next we dug a little deeper to unearth the other cases. PT mentioned an online abuser getting murdered by a brother. I think we found the case.” Esperanza tapped the iPad and a man’s face appeared. “The murder victim was Walter Stone. Age fifty-seven, two grown kids, a wife. Spent most of his days abusively trolling online and really went hard after a woman named Amy Howell. She lives in Oregon.”
Myron read the file. “Sheesh, this guy was pretty sick.”
“You have no idea what we see at the law firm,” Esperanza said. “People spiral. They’d never act this way in person. But online? Not to get too deep into it, but social media wants eyeballs. Period, the end. The best way to get that? Divide people. Make them angry. Turn them into extremists.”
“Not unlike cable news,” Myron said.
“Exactly. Fear and divisiveness offer engagement. Agreement and moderation do not. Anyway, here is the evidence against Howell’s brother Edward Pascoe.”
Myron read down the list. “Car spotted, CCTV of the car by a water reservoir, murder weapon found there.… It’s a lot.”
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55
- Page 56
- Page 57
- Page 58
- Page 59
- Page 60
- Page 61
- Page 62
- Page 63
- Page 64
- Page 65
- Page 66
- Page 67
- Page 68
- Page 69
- Page 70
- Page 71
- Page 72
- Page 73
- Page 74
- Page 75
- Page 76
- Page 77
- Page 78
- Page 79
- Page 80
- Page 81
- Page 82
- Page 83
- Page 84
- Page 85
- Page 86
- Page 87
- Page 88
- Page 89
- Page 90
- Page 91
- Page 92
- Page 93
- Page 94
- Page 95
- Page 96
- Page 97
- Page 98
- Page 99
- Page 100
- Page 101
- Page 102
- Page 103
- Page 104
- Page 105
- Page 106
- Page 107
- Page 108
- Page 109
- Page 110
- Page 111
- Page 112
- Page 113
- Page 114
- Page 115
- Page 116
- Page 117
- Page 118
- Page 119
- Page 120 (reading here)
- Page 121
- Page 122
- Page 123
- Page 124
- Page 125
- Page 126
- Page 127
- Page 128
- Page 129
- Page 130
- Page 131
- Page 132
- Page 133
- Page 134
- Page 135
- Page 136
- Page 137
- Page 138
- Page 139
- Page 140
- Page 141
- Page 142
- Page 143
- Page 144
- Page 145
- Page 146
- Page 147
- Page 148
- Page 149
- Page 150
- Page 151
- Page 152
- Page 153
- Page 154
- Page 155
- Page 156
- Page 157
- Page 158
- Page 159
- Page 160
- Page 161
- Page 162
- Page 163
- Page 164
- Page 165
- Page 166